


How Do You Solve a Problem Like Miss Swan?

by blackhorseandthecherrytree



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:19:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackhorseandthecherrytree/pseuds/blackhorseandthecherrytree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma gets adopted by the Golds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Deal

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT.

* * *

He wants comfort. Riches. A good life. And that whenever he says “please”, she’ll do as he asks.

There always is a catch with Rumplestiltskin.

Regina is many things: conscienceless, ruthless, focused. She’s enjoyed being the cause of her former master’s unhappiness, but she’s not stupid. She knows that if he asks for something like this, it’s because he plans to use it. He’s counting on Snow’s unborn brat breaking the curse.

She’s enjoyed keeping her little pawn in check, but pieces were made to be used in times like these.

“I’ll make you a different offer.” She raised her chin. Never show fear. Besides, Regina isn’t afraid. “Some time ago, I came across a stray thing wandering around in the wilderness. A trifle, really, that I remember you once were fond of. I believe her name was Belle.”

A combination of fear, terror, and rising rage flickered across Rumplestiltskin’s face. Good. “You said she was dead.”

“It appears I was wrong.” Regina examined her nails. “She was quite mad, of course, after everything she’d gone through in her father’s tower and, well, whatever it was she’d had to do to escape. My men were forced to restrain her to keep her from harming herself. But she’s safe, and as comfortable as I could make her. I always did feel sorry for the poor girl. It wasn’t her fault she fell in love with – now, what did her father call you? – ah, yes. A beast.”

“You said she was dead and gone, you said that she’d killed herself.” The pain on his face was almost too delicious for words. But this was what he’d taught her to do, to be. Why should he be so surprised when she used her lessons?

She looked him straight in the eye and lied. “I was wrong.”

“What’s your price?” Rumplestiltskin was trembling with fury, but ultimately helpless in his cage. It was nice to feel on the other side of things, for a change. Regina leaned in, face to face, a hair’s breadth from the mad man in his box.

“You’ll get your estate in my brave new world – your riches, your comfort. But if you want your happy ending, you’re just going to have to work with me. No orders. In return, I’ll give this Belle of yours new memories. I’ll wipe away the anguish she’s gone through as if it had never been. ”

“She’ll be happy.” His voice was hoarse, and his head was bent. In that moment, Regina knew she had him.

“As I recall someone once saying to me, that will depend entirely on you.”

She’s never understood Rumplestiltskin’s sentimentality in this matter. In the long run, she’d done him a favor. True love is only a liability. His little paramour would’ve been the death of him. She couldn’t have afforded that then. But for now – and possibly for later – she can profit from it.

Rumplestiltskin’s hands tightened on the bars of his cage. “I want to see her.”

Behind her masks, Regina stilled, but her smile never faltered. This was something she was prepared for, but not something she wanted to do. She’d hoped he would be as blindly accepting as when she told him of the girl’s demise, but no such luck. She’d have to count on it a bit further, because this would be the biggest gamble she’d ever made in their bargaining, and this time it was her life on the line. She had no delusions about what Rumplestiltskin would do to her if he ever discovered that she’d hidden away his princess-turned-serving-girl. But she’d already decided: anything to get her revenge. Anything to make Snow White suffer. Nothing but her never-ending pain and misery would suffice.

“I can’t bring her to you.” From underneath her cloak, Regina brought out something precious. “But I have this mirror. It will show you anything you want to see. You can see her right now, as she is, or you can see her as she was. The choice is yours.” She held the hand mirror out to him, handle first, so he could take it, and then stepped away to give him some sense of privacy. Even a monster like him had human emotions. The trick was to exploit them.

The mirror would show him anything – anything she wanted him to see, that is. Her genie took care of that. They’d rehearsed the events Rumplestiltskin would watch. There would be the beatings, of course, and the scourgings, mostly taken from Joan’s trials, but replaced with his lady love’s face and figure. She’d made other arrangements for the details of the girl’s escape. If he looked to the present, he’d see her asleep. Illusions weren’t exactly her stock in trade, but it was passable enough for Rumplestiltskin’s inspection. Or it seemed to be, at any rate.

He dropped the mirror. “You can keep that,” Regina called out idly. It wouldn’t hurt to have eyes inside his cell, after all, and who knew if Snow and her prince would come by again. “Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.” And there, there he was, the same as when she’d first told him of Belle’s death. Broken.

Regina approached the bars again. “So tell me. What must I do to enact this curse?”


	2. The Plan

Magic always comes with a price. Rumplestiltskin had known that Snow and Charming’s child would pay it for him to get to this world, but he hadn’t realized her price would be so steep. Perhaps part of him had hoped that if she was treated well, so would Bae. A fool’s hope. He knew better than to gamble on dreams, and it had cost her.

Emma Swan, all of seven years old, already gone through five homes and labeled a problem child in her official file. He knew the look on her face in the picture – it was the look of someone who’d been starved of all love and affection, a child too old for her years. The best he could say for the foster care system was that at least she’d never starved, or been without a roof over her head and clothes on her back, however ugly and worn.

He shuffled through her file, looking through the numerous notes, report cards, and medical records. She’d broken her leg once, and had three of her baby teeth knocked out. Most of her teachers mentioned that she seemed a sweet child, but troubled and withdrawn, and a little too prone to fights. She did reasonably well on her schoolwork, but that seemed more indicative of her relative interests than a devotion to her academics. She did better in math than English, and in punching bullies than either.

His mouth quirked. Some aspects of heroism, it seemed, were genetic.

He was under no illusions. To bring this child into his home would be an enormous undertaking. He was no longer Alexander Gold, simple pawnbroker and loan shark, married to a woman too naïve to understand what he really did and who he really was. He could not take this child and raise her to replace his own. No one could replace Bae. But she wouldn’t have to.

Emma would have her own place, with her own life, here in Storybrooke. Belle’s heart ached for a child, and just as Alexander Gold could deny her nothing, neither could Rumplestiltskin. She would be Belle’s child. And he…he would be her mentor.

He couldn’t afford to be anything more, not with her parents in town. Presumably, when they woke up, they would be able to share their child with Belle, but never with a monster as old and twisted as he. He would have to hope that the girl felt grateful enough to him to help with finding Bae.

Regina could not know. Not yet, not until Emma was grown. He’d have to play her good friend Alexander Gold for a while longer. There was no other way to guarantee that they would be left alone, unfortunately. And he would have to explain to Emma the circumstances. If she was anything like her mother, she was too intelligent not to pick up on Storybrooke’s oddities and ask inconvenient questions. If she was anything like her father, she was too stubborn to stop asking questions when it got difficult.

In what he’d seen of the future, Emma was a person with no room for magic in her life, no taste for fiction or fantasy. She was firmly grounded in reality. He hadn’t been sure if that’d been a personality tic, something she’d had to do to survive, or simply a product of growing up in this world. Possibly all three. A world without magic would have to cope with the lack somehow.

In what he’d seen – he hadn’t seen this. He had guessed, had planned, had dreamed, but these years in Storybrooke had remained infuriatingly obdurate, no matter how he shifted in his visions of the future.

He’d never tried focusing on Belle. He thought her dead, and her words before her father’s council still rang in his ears: “No one decides my fate but me.” He had decided long before that no one ever would. Her freedom from the strands of destiny seemed too precious to him, like allowing a rose enough air to breathe.

Belle had taken that freedom and left him. She’d chosen to go, although he hadn’t left her the option to stay. And because he’d put his own needs before her well-being, her all-too-precious mind had unraveled. He had to watch over her. He owed her that much. The curse restored her mind to her, but there was no telling what would happen when the curse broke. Would the memories of sanity would be enough to combat her brokenness? He was no physician of the mind. He left jobs like that to Archie Hopper.

Their life here together had been seven years of marriage. The first night passed them by in a blur, neither of them satisfied or happy. The night after was the same, and the nights that followed. It was not love or anything like it. Alexander Gold married Bethany French in order to get a free housekeeper, and to quiet the unpaid debts of Maurice French’s overdue loans. They had a stale pattern: breakfast in the morning, him at the shop and her at the library, lunch, the shop again, an empty, quiet dinner and then sitcoms neither he nor Bethany enjoyed before bed.

On Thursdays, he asked Regina for a child. Last Thursday, she had agreed.

He wondered what had inspired the change in his monster. Boredom, finally? Had manipulating and controlling everyone in Storybrooke finally lost its edge? It would take time, but he could worm it out of her. And whatever it had been, it would be her downfall. Of that, he had no doubt.

But for now, he would start with being kind to his wife, a woman so starved for love she’d taken his indifference and toleration for the best she was likely to get, and hoped for children to lavish herself on. But in this town where nothing changed, Belle’s body rejected every opportunity.

Thursdays, he asked Regina if they could adopt a child. Thursday nights, Belle cried herself to sleep.

No more. They would have Emma, and Emma’s presence would make Belle happy, because it would give her someone to care for and love. He’d work out the rest as he went along.

“Alex? Dinner’s ready!” Belle’s voice rang out clearly. It startled him.

He hadn’t thought through the implications. To have Belle, his Belle, near him, her face beautiful and bright and hers, to see her alive when for so long he had thought her dead – it was almost more than he could bear.

During the trip back from Spencer’s, he hadn’t been able to touch her or hold her, the memory of Alexander’s dry caresses still poisonous in his mind, but he’d been able to drink in her reality like wine. He couldn’t stop himself from memorizing every gesture of her face and motions. She’d been too preoccupied with looking through Emma’s files to notice.

“Coming, dear!” he called back, stacking the papers neatly and grasping for his cane. He limped slowly to the door, and the hallway beyond.

Bethany was a breezily blue shadow in the warm light of the kitchen, at pause for a moment and then moving again briskly onwards. He stood in the darkness, watching her set the table and dishes, little homely tasks that still needed to be performed.

She was good at this, he thought in wonder. She hadn’t been at first, when she moved to his castle.

Finished, she untied her apron, wiping her hands on it as she did so. She looked up. For a moment, he thought she was going to – do something, call out to him, invite him in. Drag him out of the darkness, like always.

She sat down at the table.


	3. Miss Swan

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT.

* * *

Emma scuffed at the ground with her shoe. It was annoying Mr. Spencer, she could tell, but she didn’t care. Her sneakers, she could do what she wanted. 

“Stop that.”

Emma shot him a glance, and reluctantly stopped. In the two hours she’d known him, he’d proven himself to be kind of a hardass, and she didn’t really want to get on his bad side this early on. Besides, with her luck, she already had.

“So what do you do here?” she asked, not having anything else to do.

“I’m a lawyer.” He scratched at a page. “I help people with legal issues, and I draw up papers for business.”

Emma didn’t scuff. She simply circled her foot slowly over the place she had scuffed. “I didn’t know that lawyers could be case workers.”

“The rules are different in Storybrooke.” The scritching paused. Emma looked up. “Go get some paper and crayons from my secretary. Your foster parents should be here in fifteen minutes. You might as well do something until they get here.”

“Yes, sir,” Emma muttered, and went, even though she was too old for crayons.

The secretary was an intimidating old black lady who looked as if she hadn’t smiled in years and had forgotten how to smile long before that. Emma wasn’t scared, though. She didn’t like people who smiled too much. They lied the most. And sometimes they didn’t even realize they were lying, which was worse. Emma grabbed a few crayons from the basket on the counter and asked her for paper.

The lady stared at her, her face motionless, and stood up. “Wait here.”

She went back into the hallway Emma had just come from, which seemed pointless to her, but whatever. She hopped on her toes, and though about going outside, where it was bright and shiny and she thought maybe she’d seen another kid, or a couple of them. But she didn’t think Mr. Spencer would like that and she wanted to stay on his good side for as long as possible. If he even had a good side.

The lady came back and handed Emma the paper.  “Mr. Spencer wants you to stay here.” Something indistinguishable flickered over her face. “Draw something nice.”

Emma took the paper and walked slowly to the adult couch, wishing she was anywhere but waiting for another family to decide they didn’t want her.

She didn’t have anything else to do, so she started drawing. She tried a tree, at first, but it looked all wrong, not like a tree at all. She crumpled up the paper and tossed it onto the table. The secretary never moved a muscle.

So she tried the monkey bars, her favorite thing on the playground, but the lines were too stupid and squiggly. Crayons really were for kids, anyways. She crumpled that up, too. Finally she drew a picture of some pretty flowers to prove that she’d tried and looked around. Everything in the office was grown-up and stupid-looking and boring.

From her spot, Emma had a clear view of the parking lot, although the blinds kept the outside from looking in. She figured that Storybrooke must be a really small place, because only one or two cars passed by while she was watching and she’d been watching for what felt like forever.

The first car that drove into the parking lot was a Cadillac. It had a wrinkled up old man with a younger woman. He opened the car door for her, and Emma realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that these must be the Golds. She stood up.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

The secretary didn’t even look up. “It’s down that hallway, to the right.”

Emma walked there and hid, the door locked, listening for noises. Moments passed. And then the front door opened with a _ching_.

The voices were low, so she couldn’t tell one from the other. Emma waited for the voices to die down, and then counted to thirty.

She didn’t want to meet her new family. She didn’t want to go back to the last family, either. What she wanted was her first family. But the Swans hadn’t wanted her either, or hadn’t wanted her enough, and whether Emma wanted it or not she was stuck.

So she clenched her fists, unlocked the bathroom door, and walked out.

“Hey.”

Emma looked at the secretary, whose face had unbent a little. “They’re in the office. You should go meet them.”

She nodded, squared her shoulders and walked in.

Mr. and Mrs. Gold were sitting in the guest chairs. Mrs. Gold had Emma’s bag of things in her lap, her face pale. But she smiled when Emma came in. “Hello. You, uh, you must be Emma.”

“Hi,” Emma said, and slid her hands into her pockets. “You’re my new family?”

Mrs. Gold’s smile brightened. “We’d like to be.”

“We were just discussing the paperwork, Miss Swan,” Mr. Spencer said from behind his desk. “I’d doubt you’d find it interesting. You should go wait out in the foyer with Ms. Stone.”

“Unless she wants to stay here,” Mr. Gold said abruptly. “After all, it is her future. One would think she’d be interested.” He looked to Emma. “Would you like to stay?”

Emma didn’t move. “Yes.”

“Then let’s find you a seat.”

-

Mr. Spencer hadn’t lied. It really was boring.

But Mr. Gold and Mrs. Gold weren’t. As on edge as Mr. Spencer had made her feel, Mr. Gold was different. He was quietly in control. Emma thought maybe he had some joke at Mr. Spencer that he wasn’t letting everyone else in on, which seemed kind of a jerk move but was also kind of funny. If she had a joke at Mr. Spencer, she wouldn’t tell anyone either.

Mrs. Gold was nice, like a couple of the moms Emma had been with. She wasn’t sure what that meant. She kept looking at her like she was sorry for her, like she wanted to hug her or something. Emma wasn’t sure what she’d do if she did. She wasn’t sure she’d even like it.

But she’d been through Emma’s bag, and looked at her favorite pair of ripped overalls in a way that made Emma feel ashamed of them, and put her hand on Emma’s shoulder gently, like she didn’t want to let go. She’d told Emma to call her Bethany, and her husband Alex. She’d said that they were going to keep her.

They were going to adopt her, which was what the paperwork in the office was about. Emma knew not to think that meant this was permanent, but they wanted it to be. She might be here for a really long time.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” Mrs. Gold said from beside her. She’d chosen to sit in the back with her during the car ride.

Emma turned from the window. “Nothing.”

“You look like you’re thinking awfully hard for thinking about nothing,” Bethany said with a laugh, and brushed the hair out of Emma’s eyes. It felt weird and was quickly over, as if a butterfly had landed on her head and then flown away. Emma shrugged, choosing not to say anything.

Bethany looked to Mr. Gold, and then carefully turned back. “I know you’ve had a long day, but I think it would be nice to celebrate your coming to us by dinner at Granny’s. Would you like to eat first, or come back to our house and see your room?”

She shrugged again. “It doesn’t matter.” And it really didn’t. Whatever she chose, she was sure they’d just do what they wanted anyways.

The smile stiffened, and then sprung up again. “Then let’s eat first. I am starving for a good cheeseburger. Do you like cheeseburgers?”

Emma did. But she made herself be nonchalant about it. “They’re okay.”

“You clearly haven’t had Granny’s cheeseburgers,” Bethany said, still smiling, and Emma felt herself smile back. Seizing the opportunity, Bethany charged onward. “And then we’ll probably go home. Your room’s a little plain at the moment, but I wanted to decorate it with you. I thought it might be fun. We can do that this weekend.”

“Sure,” Emma said, a little worried. What if she picked something wrong?

“Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day,” Bethany went on. “Alex and I have work in the morning. I work at the library, and he runs a pawn shop. You can spend the morning with either one of us, they’re both child-friendly. But in the afternoon, I want to take you clothes-shopping. Are you going to be okay with that?”

Emma stared at the sneakers she’d worn out playing kickball. “Yeah,” she said. “It sounds great.”

“Great,” said Bethany, still smiling. “Oh, look, we’re here. You’ll love Granny’s, Emma. She’s a town character. Watch the door, there’s a child safety lock. I’ve got it.”

Emma scrambled out of the car and looked around. Mr. Gold had parked in front of the diner. Right across the way, there was a big clock tower like Big Ben. It chimed on the hour.

“Well, would you fancy that,” said Mr. Gold, limping up beside her. “That clock hasn’t worked right in seven years.”

“Regina must have gotten someone to finally fix it,” Bethany said. “I’m surprised. She’s always talking about how limited her funds are and how she wishes there was more money to invest in the town library, but she has to pay her bills like the rest of us.” There was something bitter in her tone of voice, but when Emma looked up at her she was normal.

“If you need something, all you need do is ask,” said Mr. Gold, looking sharply at his wife. Emma felt like she’d stopped existing for a moment.

“Of course, darling,” Bethany said absently. She smiled at Emma. “Come on, let’s get you fed.” 


	4. The Librarian

The first morning the Golds had with a little girl in the house, Beth found her window open, her bed made, and Emma herself out in the backyard up a tree, wearing a baggy boy’s shirt and threadbare jeans.

She smoothed her skirt a little self-consciously, and slipped off her low heels and knee highs before wandering out into the dewy grass to join her.

“Good morning,” Beth said, looking up at the girl – her daughter – astride a tree branch. She tried to be cheerful. “You couldn’t sleep?”

Emma shrugged. “I slept okay.” She stayed up in the tree.

Okay, again. She said that when she didn’t want to respond, Bethany had noticed. She wasn’t sure if it was just passive resistance, or a self-defense mechanism. She’d have to talk to Dr. Hopper about that after their first session on Monday.

The night before, she had slipped in while Emma was asleep, just to check on her and make sure she was really there. She’d looked so peaceful that Beth hated to disturb her. But she stroked Emma’s hair, just because she could, and kissed her on the forehead before slipping back out to her and Alexander’s shared bedroom.

He’d been asleep before she came up to bed. That was happening more and more, recently. Bethany felt quietly relieved about it, but not without a certain sense of shame. Wives shouldn’t put off going to their husband’s beds, she thought. Wives shouldn’t feel as discontented in as out of them.

When Beth married Alexander Gold, she knew exactly what she was going to be in for. Happiness wasn’t part of the bargain; the security of her father and his business were. It was worth it to her. At least this way, she had power and choice. Bethany hadn’t been sure how long she would’ve been able to hold out against her father nudging her to marry Justin, and she wasn’t sure there would’ve been much of a difference, either way. One husband with his own life and priorities, who would assume hers were the same; or another husband who wouldn’t ask much from her.

A clean house, a companion, occasional sex – these were small things, in comparison with what she gained. She loved her father, but he could be controlling, and leaving Storybrooke was no option, not with his medical condition. Here she could provide for him discreetly, and have some of her own independence. No one in this town could say no to Mr. Gold, or his wife. She had autonomy.

So here she was, and here Emma would be with her. Maybe it was selfish, to bring a child into this. She wasn’t sure Alex could love a child; could love anything. He’d never looked at her with desire, only duty. He hadn’t wanted a wife so much as he’d wanted not to be alone. Somehow, they’d both ended up alone anyways.

But Emma would be provided for. Bethany had decided that much. No more holes in her clothing, and no more being afraid. She’d have a life, better than she’d had. Last night, she’d caught a glance of purpling bruises under her shirt, and grown angrier than she knew she was capable of being. As strained as relations could be in this household, at least she wouldn’t be abused.

Everything she’d seen about Emma’s condition made her almost irrationally angry. This was her child – a child. How could they not have treated her better? Did she even understand that she deserved better? She’d vented to Alexander, more because she needed to vent than because she wanted to share her outrage, but he’d listened, and reminded her that Emma was safe now with people who cared about her.

One way or another, she would earn this little girl’s trust and love. This was the only daughter she was likely to have, as she was the only mother Emma was going to have. They’d be together for the next twelve years, and hopefully beyond. If this was the only happiness Beth would find in her life, she’d take it.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Beth smiled up at Emma. “Do you feel like breakfast?”

Emma swung down.

Breakfast was a small affair. Pancakes could wait until the weekend, but she’d bought cereal. Emma complained about nothing, and wolfed down her food like she expected it to be ripped away at any moment. Bethany buttered her toasted bagel more delicately, and considered.

She might be more than a little attached to the idea of a daughter, but that didn’t mean she was blind. Emma had climbed out the window, onto the roof, and down a good ten feet to the ground. Bethany wasn’t sure which was more important – that Emma have an escape route, or the state of the shingles.

Her husband was a rich enough man. He could afford to replace them, Bethany decided. And Dr. Hopper had talked at length about the importance of giving their child her space. She wasn’t going to be some miracle child who would magically fix everything in their lives. Emma’s wellbeing had to come before both hers and Alexander’s, and Emma’s wellbeing might mean letting her run loose until she felt comfortable here.

She didn’t know her or Alexander, and they didn’t know Emma, either. It would all take some getting used to.

“Do you like cereal, Emma?” Beth asked, before crunching into her bagel. Asking Emma for preferences hadn’t worked well before, and most of their conversations had so far dipped into silence. Which had its place too, she supposed, but she preferred conversation, or at least trying.

“Sure.” Emma stabbed at the bowl with her spoon, retrieving cereal like a spear fisherman. She really did have atrocious table manners.

“You can eat slower, if you want to,” Beth said, opting for diplomacy instead of horror. “There’s plenty of time left, if you still want to go with me to the library.”

“I do,” Emma said quickly, her mouth full of food. She swallowed, and then continued. “I want to go with you.” Her eyes darted from Beth back to her bowl, and she stuffed her mouth full of food before she could say anything more.

And there wasn’t much Beth could say to that, although she wondered at Emma’s vehemence. “Then we’ll go. Do you like books?”

Emma shrugged. “They’re all right.” Around a mouthful of cereal, she added, “I bet you like books, though.”

“Don’t eat with your mouth full,” Beth said absent-mindedly before she caught herself. “And yes, I like books very much. I couldn’t imagine not liking books. There’s so many things you can learn from them.”

Emma eyed her dubiously, and then started slurping noisily at her cereal milk. Whether to get it down so she could get at the remaining pieces of cereal better, or because she didn’t want to get reprimanded again for eating with her mouth full, Bethany wasn’t sure.

The child was so different, asleep and awake. Asleep, she looked peaceful. Awake, she seemed restless and wary. Maybe things would change when they got the supplies to redo her room. The current state of affairs was so bleak and unchildlike, she was surprised Emma had slept at all last night.

But at any rate, at least she’d gotten a response from her, so Beth chalked it up as a win, and slurped her orange juice just as noisily as Emma was slurping her milk. A little passive aggressive and childish, but it was fun.

She couldn’t think of the last time she’d thought that about anything.

-

Beth yawned as she pushed the last book into the shelf. It wouldn’t be so bad, not really; Dewey classification was fairly simple. But Miss Ginger kept reorganizing everything, and it took all her wits to keep up with the week’s changes – which, of course, everyone was supposed to know automatically, even if Bethany had caught her once posting it fifteen minutes before opening on Monday.

Sometimes, Bethany felt as if Patti enjoyed making people miserable. But that, she told herself firmly, was uncharitable, so she put it aside. Even if it had taken pulling most of the strings she had to get the afternoon off.

After clocking out, she knocked on the shelf divider between the kids’ section and the rest of the library. “I’m here to pick up Emma for lunch.”

Sara Azad smiled back. “Then we shan’t keep you waiting.” Emma was sitting by her feet, listening raptly to her story, and she motioned her forward. “We can finish the story next time you come in, Emma. You  won’t miss a thing. And maybe there’ll even be more.”

Emma looked up, eyes filled with doubt. “Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart. Now run along.” Sara smiled again, bopped the girl on the nose, and Emma went running. Beth watched with a small pang in her heart. No jealousy, she reminded herself. Anything that made Emma open up had to be a good thing.

Besides, Sara was a perfectly nice person. It’d be good for Emma to get to know her. Beth put her own feelings aside as they began walking out the door. “How was your morning?”

Emma shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” But her step was lighter, and she seemed happier.

“Oh,” Beth said, “just okay. That’s a pity.” She kept her tone casual. “I suppose you won’t be wanting to come back, then?”

Emma shrugged further, and dug her hands into her pockets. “I guess I wouldn’t mind.”

“Mmm.” It was clear she wasn’t getting anything else out of her, so Beth tried another tack. “How did you like Miss Azad?”

“She was cool.” Emma shuffled her feet. “She told a story about a Russian girl named Vasilisa.” Despite Emma’s air of indifference, she pronounced the name exactly as Sara would have pronounced it, which made Beth smile.

They reached the car. “Why don’t you tell me all about Vasilisa? I don’t think I’ve heard of her before.” A lie, but a white one, and Emma’s version should be interesting enough.

“She didn’t finish it. I don’t know the ending.” Emma scrambled into the back.

“Mmm.” Beth looked at her through the rearview mirror. “You could always make up one?”

“I guess.” Emma kicked at the back of Beth’s seat. It wasn’t that annoying, so she let it slide. “It’s kinda like Cinderella, except it’s Russian. And when her mom dies, she leaves her a doll to help her. Then her dad gets remarried to an evil stepmother who makes her go out into the woods to a witch to get a light for the fire.”

 “And then what happened?” Beth rounded a corner.

“And then the witch told her to do things she couldn’t possibly do, and the doll bailed her out. And then we had to leave.”

Emma’s face was a study in contrasts, Beth thought. This girl tried to act like she didn’t care, maybe even tried not to care at all, but the emotions slipped through all the same if you watched for them. She had them.  She just didn’t want you to know she had them.

The thought made her sad, so she changed her train of thought. “How do you think the story ends?”

 “Maybe Vasilisa shoves the old witch into the oven and bakes her, like Hansel and Gretel.” Emma shrugged. “And then they put her head on a spike.”

Beth had the idea that Emma was looking for some kind of shock from her, but she’d read one too many fairytales to be anything more than wryly amused. “That’s certainly an ending,” she responded. “But what does Vasilisa do after that?”

Emma shrugged again. “Maybe she lives out in the witch’s house instead of going back home? And then she becomes the next witch, except a good one.” Then she scrunched up her nose. “She probably meets a prince, though. They all do.”

“They?” Beth made a turn. “What do you mean by they?”

“Princesses.”

Beth made a hmm-ing noise. “You don’t like princesses?”

“They’re okay.” Behind her seat, she could hear shuffling, before Emma broke out with “But they never get to do anything. Not like boys do. Boys are stupid.”

So that was it, Beth thought. “Have you ever let that stop you?”

Emma glared at the back of Beth’s seat. “No.”

Beth smiled sweetly. “Sometimes it’s better to let people think it does.”

Beth, 2; orphaned child who had no idea what she was getting into, 0.

She felt that everyone was a winner in this game.

-

Emma was quiet and noncommunicative while they shopped. Beth was half-tempted to just buy everything she looked at twice, but didn’t want to embarrass the child. She stuck with the essentials, instead: jeans, shirts, underwear, new shoes, two dresses, pajamas, and socks. Beth had bought toiletries the week before, so they were clear in that regard.

“Are there any of your clothes at home that you really want?” Beth asked in the checkout line.

Emma hesitated, and then shook her head. Beth wasn’t sure that she wasn’t lying, but if she wanted something from what she’d brought she could always sneak it out, the same way she’d hidden her baby blanket.

That baby blanket was a work of art. Someone had put some thought into Emma – had loved her, and lost her.

Someone had left her by the side of the road.

Beth felt no compunctions about slipping an extra candy bar into their items.

-

Rumplestiltskin was in his office when he heard Emma and Belle come in the front door. He reached for his cane, and limped to greet them.

Of all the things coming to a land without magic had taken from him, he missed his healed leg the most. The pain was considerably less than he remembered it having been, but still present. Nothing he couldn’t manage, however.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said. “I trust Emma’s clothing situation has been repaired?”

Emma made a face. Belle set her bags down on a chair. “Somewhat. It’ll be a work in progress.” She sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

“I made supper. Stew.” Simple enough, but filling, and recognizing old ingredients in new packaging had been an interesting challenge. “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind a break for one night. It should be ready in, say, twenty minutes.”

Something fleeting passed across Belle’s face. “Not at all.” She smiled at Emma. “Go and bring in the rest of the bags, sweetheart? I’ll take these up to your room.”

“Sure,” said Emma, and ran off, half-tripping over the hems of her jeans.

Very deliberately, Belle went to the kitchen and began taking out dishes for the table.

“That – that can wait. Bethany.” It was a struggle to use the name she had here. “How was your trip together?”

“I think it went well,” she said, and Belle smiled at him. “She didn’t feel comfortable picking things out, so I just got her what she needed.”

“Ah.” He stood for a moment, and then limped over to the silverware, propping his cane to the one side and pulling out the pieces. She snapped a hand on the drawer.

“We should leave something for Emma to do, don’t you think?”

Rumplestiltskin looked at Bethany, and began to see part of the method of her curse. Slowly, he put the forks back into their tray. “Yes, I suppose we should.”

He didn’t dare look at her again, but the part of him that was Alexander Gold continued. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be in my study.”

As he limped from the kitchen through the passage, he saw Emma standing small in the open doorway, bags in hand.

“Should I just go help her now?”

A small savior, but a savior nonetheless, he mused. He smiled.

“I think you can put your clothes away before you help with dinner, Miss Swan. You still have the time.”


	5. The Mayor

  


The townspeople cowered before Regina everywhere she went, the way they always did. Peasants were good for little else. She was powerful, the founder of their idyllic little town. She was their leader and provider and they looked to her as suckling babes. She was their queen, or as near as could come in a place like this. There were few exceptions to this rule.

Her old friend Rumplestiltskin was one of these. It’d never felt right for him to fear her, so she’d never pushed the object. His little wife, though – she trembled, although they were the best of friends.

Regina knew everything that went on in Beth’s tawdry life. Her hate and indifference for her husband, her dying father, her desire for children, her longing for companionship. And finally, it seemed, she’d gotten her one wish.

Damn that imp, and damn his impudence. She’d suspected he knew something once he’d said “please”. It had been the only time in seven years that he had, however many times he’d come to her for a child. The pleading in his face had been delicious. Each time she’d seen it, she thought of all the times she’d desired while unable to speak her mind and felt a vicious thrill of satisfaction. And now that was gone.

Mr. Gold should not have been able to say “please”. Mr. Gold could apologize. He could witticize. He could maneuver the thin point of a deal

He should not have been able to ask for a favor.

Now here they were, one big happy family, and the clock in the middle of town was moving. Regina didn’t know how to fix that. She’d gone to Gold; but in a world without his memories, he was unable to help her.

Typical, really. He’d never been much help even when he’d been awake.

Regina smoothed her snarl into a smirk, freshened her make-up, and clicked the keys out of her car. She’d put off an appointment with Graham for this. Hopefully, it’d be worth it.

-

Beth had gotten up early to clean, and straighten, and then clean some more. Regina had very particular tastes. You could be sure that if there was dust, she would notice it and make some kind of comment. It was easier just to make sure everything was more spotless than ordinary.

Sometimes it was difficult, being Regina’s friend. But Beth reflected that it must be even more difficult to be Mayor. Regina had a whole town of people to look after, instead of one house, and she worked very hard at making sure everything was just right for everyone. She could hardly expect her not to notice details.

Beth wished, a little, that Emma had chosen more pretty clothing. She kept that wish to herself. Emma didn’t need to hear it.

But she did wish that she could be certain Regina would approve.

Beth checked her watch. Fifteen minutes until the time they’d arranged, and Mayor Mills was always punctual. The muffins should be ready in five, and if Emma hadn’t gotten into too much trouble, everything should be set.

If Emma hadn’t gotten into too much trouble. That was a lot to ask, she’d learned quickly. The girl tended to keep her ruckus outside the house, as quiet as a mouse inside, but more often than not there were things she didn’t realize were wrong, like tracking dirt inside or leaving her room in a mess. But she listened, at least. Or Beth hoped she did

At least she’d gotten the girl into something presentable. Beth hadn’t been able to tell whether Emma liked it or not, but the dress had been adorable on her, so she’d bought the dark green taffeta with a pair of tights and Mary Janes, hoping for the best. So far, no dirt, scuffs or runs.

So far. Beth crossed her fingers after pulling the muffins out. “Emma!” she called.

There was quiet, then the sound of Emma running down the stairs like an express train. “Yes?”

Beth turned to see her standing stiffly in the middle of the kitchen. Maybe it was dressing up that she wasn’t used to, she thought. But it was something she would need to learn, so it was best to get her used to it. “You remember what I told you about Mayor Mills?”

“Always call her Mayor Mills, or Ms. Mills,” Emma recited. “Be polite. Be respectful. And…” she made a face. “Don’t disagree with her?”

“She really doesn’t like that,” Beth said, and started popping muffins out of the muffin tray onto the cooling rack. “Now, if you’re good, we’ll do something special tonight. Regina - Mayor Mills – is a very close friend of mine. I want her to think well of you. It’s just better to stack the deck, if we can.”

The doorbell rang. Beth did not sigh, but she did smile brightly at Emma. “And there she is now. Let’s go meet her, shall we?”

Regina Mills was a woman who dressed to let people know she was in charge and knew it. For as long as Beth had known her, she’d never seen the mayor mask slip once. It was impressive.

But there was a person in there, she knew. She was just hard to get at. Impulsively, Beth hugged her friend. Regina wasn’t normally comfortable with physical contact she hadn’t initiated, but Beth felt today could be an exception, as long as she didn’t push it. “Regina. It’s so good to see you.”

“Beth,” Regina said. “And this must be the Emma you told me so much about.” Beth stepped back from the hug, and Regina held out her hand like a queen. “It’s very good to finally get to meet you.”

Emma shook her hand. “Hi, Mrs. Mills.”

Regina’s smile remained static. “Ms., dear.”

“Ms. Mills. Sorry.” Emma’s smile dropped, and she looked between them anxiously.

Beth hurried to cover. “Let’s have tea. You have excellent timing, Regina, I just got the muffins out of the oven. Cranberry orange.”

“It sounds delicious,” Regina said, smiling.

-

“We met over a copy of Black Beauty she donated to the library,” Beth Gold told the Swan girl, and simpered. “That was one of Ms. Mills’ favorite childhood books. Have you read it?”

Emma Swan shook her head without speaking a word. She’d been picking at her muffin ever since they got to the table.

“Maybe we can read it together,” Regina said with her mayor’s smile. “I’m always willing to further education.”  It’d give Sidney a new headline, for once.

The girl shrugged. “That’d be cool, I guess.”

Unmannerly child. Regina’s eyes narrowed before Beth interrupted. “Emma would love that, I’m sure. She just doesn’t quite know how to express it.”

Emma remained mute. Regina looked at her – really looked, this time. She remembered feeling much the same when her mother took her to go calling. She glanced away, slightly unsettled, and then briskly dropped her teacup on the floor.

“Oh, what a mess.” The china lay broken on the carpeted floor. Beth jumped up to clean like a little scullery maid. “Beth, dear, I’ll just take Emma out for a walk around the block while you clean that up. We can’t have her feet cut, now can we?”

Beth looked from Emma to Regina to Emma, and smiled at the girl. “Go on, then. Ms. Mills will take good care of you.”

Emma walked past her adoptive mother in shoes. Regina pretended not to notice.

-

Emma knew, somehow, that Mayor Mills had wanted to speak with her alone. And she knew that that meant nothing good.

She’d met people like Mayor Mills before – people who looked at her as if she could give them something they needed, people who used their words to control people like Beth. Bullies. There wasn’t anything that made her more angry.

If they were kids on the playground, Emma would’ve known what to do to make sure she didn’t mess with either of them ever again. But Mayor Mills was Beth’s friend, and a grownup besides, so she wasn’t really sure what to do.

She’d try not to give her anything she wanted, Emma decided. She’d try to talk as little as possible. That might work.

“So, Emma. How are you liking Storybrooke?”

She shrugged. “It’s okay.” She fingered the end of her dark green dress, not looking up. “Maine’s cool.”

Mayor Mills stopped and looked at her. After a few moments, Emma looked back, warning alarms firing off in her brain. Mayor Mills bent to her level and made eye contact.

“Emma, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that for me?”

Emma nodded, curious now. What could be so important that she’d break a cup on purpose?

“Beth Gold means the best by you. But her husband is a very dangerous man. If for any reason you feel like you’re in danger, I want you to come to me. Do you understand?”

”You’re afraid of him?” Emma burst out, surprised. The Mayor’s eyes narrowed, but she went on. “Why?” She’d seen kids back away from her, but she thought it was because she was a foster kid. Parents didn’t always want their kids playing with kids like her.

“We have history,” Ms. Mills said. “Long, complicated history. I wouldn’t bore you with the details, but he is not someone to be trusted.”

Emma nodded, slowly. Maybe the Mayor couldn’t be trusted either, but she wasn’t lying.

What was someone like Beth doing with someone like that?

Ms. Mills was waiting for an answer. “You’ll remember to come to me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Emma, and her voice sounded brittle even to her. She’d sleep in a garbage can before she went to the mayor, if it came to that. She just wouldn’t trust either of them.

Ms. Mills smiled, stood back up, and waited for her before she started walking again. “If you do come to me, you know, I wouldn’t let you go back into foster care. You could live with me instead. Would you like that?”

Emma knew the right answer was yes. But she’d probably be sent back no matter what the mayor said, and she didn’t want to lie. So she shrugged again. “I guess.”

She felt Mayor Mills’ gaze sweep over her and then dismiss her. Emma tried not to look too relieved.

“Why don’t we get back to the house? The glass should be cleaned up by now -”

A police car driving past honked and interrupted her, and somebody waved at her and stuck his head out the door.

Ew. Regina had a boyfriend?

“Stay here,” the mayor said before walking over to him and starting a conversation. And Emma meant to. She really did. She didn’t want to make more trouble for Beth.

But it was a sunny day, and she didn’t really want to wait for Regina to stop being all gross and mushy, and the park was right there, so Emma ran as soon as Regina’s back was turned and she felt like she could get away with it.

It was a full block before she felt like Regina or her boyfriend wouldn’t know where to catch her, and then she took off her shoes and stockings and ran the rest of the way for the fun of it. She was sweaty by the time she got to the park, so she wiped off her face on her skirt. The water from the water fountain was tingly cold and tasted really good.

Emma left her shoes and stockings by the water fountain and went looking for what she could find. The playground was weirdly empty. She gave the swings a few rounds, and then did the monkey bars, and even went a few times around the carousel. The slide was really hot and almost burnt her hands off, so she only went down it once. And then she heard loud croaking noises that she couldn’t pinpoint until she remembered about the pond just over the next hill. The frogs were out.

She wondered if she could catch one.

When Regina found her, she’d gotten her dress completely ruined while trying to hold down a slimy animal who decidedly didn’t want to be in her pocket.

-

“I’m afraid your little miscreant got away from me,” Regina said smoothly, anger sharpening every word. “She ran away when I stopped to talk to one of my constituents, and then she got herself into a terrible mess. If I were you, I’d punish her severely.”

Beth tried for a smile. “Well, children will be children. They don’t think more than a few minutes ahead, I’m sure Emma’s very sorry. Aren’t you, Emma?” She looked at Emma, cueing her in.

Emma didn’t look at all sorry, but at least she knew what was good for her and mumbled out a “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“After everything your mother went through to dress you up nicely, and you treat her dress like that.” Regina was beginning to be frightening. “And all you can say for yourself is sorry?”

Emma flinched. It almost looked like Regina was feeding on her fear. Beth stepped in before anything else could happen. “She apologized.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying. “I will handle Emma’s punishment myself. You don’t need to worry about it, Regina.” She kept going before she could think about it. “You’re a busy woman. I’m sure you have places to be. Don’t you have a council meeting today?”

Regina seemed taken aback. She stepped forward, staring at her intensely. Beth managed to hold her ground, but just barely. She raised her chin.

“What did you say to me?”

All of a sudden, Beth found herself covered in shame. What was she doing? This was Regina, the Mayor, her friend. She deserved better from her. “I-I-I.” Beth stopped. Made herself say it. “I only wanted to make sure you weren’t late for your meeting.” Beth didn’t mean to stutter, but stutter she did anyways. “I know how important those are to you.”

The Mayor looked at her. Beth couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she said, and picked up her things.

“It won’t,” Beth said, and put her hand on Emma’s shoulder. Regina swooped out the door. She let out a breath, suddenly horrified at herself. What had she done?

But what else had there been for her to do?

“Are you mad at me?”

Emma’s dress really was a horrific mess. Beth hadn’t realized one seven-year-old little girl could get so dirty.

She hadn’t realized a lot of things, before Emma. Absently, she felt very much in turmoil over the conflict with Regina - almost sick to her stomach. But Emma mattered more, so she set that aside.

“It’s only a dress. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Beth took her hand off Emma’s shoulder, a little reluctantly.  “Are you hurt?”

Emma shook her head no.

“Then the only thing you have to worry about is running off on Ms. Mills. That was very rude of you.” Beth looked down at Emma’s feet, and realized the girl was barefoot. “Where are your shoes?”

Emma wilted more. “Back at the park, by the water fountain. I forgot them.” The girl looked so miserable in her ripped and muddied dress that Beth couldn’t help but forgive her.

But she had to be firm. She had to be strong. “Why did you run away from Ms. Mills?”

“I was bored,” Emma said without making eye contact. “She was talking to her boyfriend. I didn’t want to wait around anymore.”

Beth pursed her lips. “You shouldn’t have done that, Emma. If you were bored, you should’ve asked her if you could go to the park before going. Or asked her if you could go back to the house on your own.” She brushed a piece of hair back behind her ear. “Ms. Mills is an adult. She deserves that respect.”

Emma nodded and shrank in on herself even more, if that was possible. “Are you going to punish me?”

Beth looked at the little girl she’d adopted and saw how terrified she was. She knelt to Emma’s level. “Do you think you need to be?”

Emma shrugged, still not looking at her.

Impulsively, Beth hugged her. She felt Emma stiffen, then slightly relax. She sat back and looked her daughter in the eye.

“Do you know what you did wrong?”

Emma nodded.

“Do you know not to do it again?”

Emma nodded.

She didn’t know this child at all, Beth realized. They’d had all of three days together. Maybe it had been a little early to introduce her to Regina. But, well. Regina had insisted. Beth leaned in. “Then I do believe we can skip the punishment.”

Emma scrunched up her nose. “Really?”

“Really.” Beth tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially. “But best not to let Ms. Mills know that.” She nodded at the bathroom. “Now, off to the tub with you. I’ll bring you a towel.”

She’d have to call Dove, ask him to pick up Emma’s shoes and stockings. It was a little out of his purview, but she didn’t want to leave Emma in the house alone. It’d mean that Alexander would find out, too. Beth thought that he might be amused.

She hadn’t known that Regina had a boyfriend.

But it was none of her business, in the end. Regina made her own choices. If she chose to have a private life, that was her life. Really, Regina was under a tremendous amount of stress, it’d be more surprising if she didn’t have a boyfriend than if she did.

…She didn’t deserve to have a friend who’d turn her out of the house.

Downstairs, Beth picked up the phone, and dialed Regina’s number to leave an apology in her voicemail.

  



End file.
